


Lux

by dragonofdispair



Series: Vampiric Codex [11]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Vampires, Blood Drinking, Canon What Canon, Canon-Typical Violence, Continuity What Continuity, Dark Fantasy, Gen, Horror, Vampire!Deadlock, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:33:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23308411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonofdispair/pseuds/dragonofdispair
Summary: Wing has practice navigating the line between dreams and nightmares, light and dark, in his own spark and the world around him. He knows gods and vampires and magic as well as any mortal can… but sometimes the world still surprises him.
Series: Vampiric Codex [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1120587
Comments: 26
Kudos: 50





	Lux

**Author's Note:**

> Lychinus is a god of my own creation. He is a god of fire, shadows, forges and all things that are built by mechs, from weapons to relationships. As modern Iacon’s primary religion is the dualistic Primus/Unicron religion, in practice the worship of Lychinus focuses on navigating an ever-shifting line between light and dark. I created him because this world really should have hundreds of gods and just as many ways that belief interacts with the vampiric curse. So far, though, the only not-Primus-or-Unicron gods have been the under-plate dwellers’ “angels”. I was making a point when I made Drift different based on that belief, that the vampiric curse is mutable depending how it interacts with belief, but the lack of other competing religions has just effectively made Drift into a “super” vampire who doesn’t have the same weaknesses as others. Lychinus is my first attempt to start bringing that nuance back into this ‘verse.
> 
> Beta'd by Ladydragon76

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No stranger to fighting side by side with vampires, Wing didn’t flinch when the alien EM field slid along his own.  _ Rage. Hatred. Vengeance. Will to destroy. Glee! _ It was distinctly different than his opponents’ various shades of  _ predatory possessiveness _ and Wing could track his new ally even in the chaos of a battlefield. 

Well,  _ battlefield _ might have been a misnomer given what he’d observed looking down on Iacon from the mountains that surrounded the city. The city still occasionally erupted in flashes of light and thunder, explosions, shouts… chaos, and in the morning Wing often saw fewer buildings and more wreckage. This was more of a… skirmish. 

He shouldn’t have left the safety of the monastery. He did almost every day or night, but he shouldn’t have. 

But he was a knight errant, a holder of one of the Great Swords of Lychinus. He was not meant to stand by and watch. Dai Atlas said that they could not help the Autobots or the Decepticons, who were driven by opposing forces to annihilation, and Wing agreed. But he was  _ mortal _ and not one of Dai Atlas’ pack or thralls, and so he should not have to stand by while Decepticons hauled their chained “fuel sacks” right beneath his perch! 

And so he hadn’t. 

In terms perhaps more understandable to a vampire, this wasn’t the city; this was Circle of Light turf, and in violating the laws set down by Dai Atlas and the Knights, they courted death. This just happened to be the night death came for them. If it didn’t come for Wing in the process!

But Primus or Lychinus or some other god must have been looking out for him tonight. As the last upright Decepticon fell to the Great Sword, its holy touch sliding through cursed metal like an arc cutter, Wing whirled on his ersatz ally, expecting the unknown vampire to turn on him, in battle lust and feeding frenzy, now that their mutual enemies were gone.

Instead he saw the grimy monster hunched over one of the Decepticons, a green one with spiked armor, who was still on the cusp of life…  _ hatred/satisfaction _ … at least until the grey and black mottled one ripped out the Decepticon’s throat with his teeth before ripping down from the wound to his spark and tearing it out. An utterly primal insult from one vampire to another, Wing knew.  _ I own you in death as I couldn’t in life. _ Wing had never seen it before. Circle of Light vampires didn’t… didn’t  _ do that _ to each other!

The green vampire’s fuel covered the mottled one, and turned dark like black paint, and Wing understood from the dark vampire’s color that he was looking at a vampire that had killed many of its own kind, recently. Or at least since the last time it had bathed. Wing had heard that vampires could go feral, stripped down to mere animal cunning by hunger, but he did not believe he was looking at one of those unfortunates now. Wing had never seen a feral vampire of course, but from what he had been told, no feral should be capable of such focused hatred. Hatred required priorities beyond fuel-hunger. Red optics examined Wing as the vampire stood.

Wing held his Great Sword at the ready, between himself and the vampire as a warding talisman. Primus had a close enough resonance to Lychinus that the sword should,  _ would,  _ **_had to,_ ** burn the vampire on contact; even if the god of fire and forges’ name alone would not harm a vampire attuned to the god of creation, the  _ artifacts _ had power beyond mere naming. And weapons, more so than other artifacts of power, could channel their wielders' intent. Wing was a Knight of Lychinus, a holder of one of the swords forged by His own hand.  _ He _ was not prey!

The vampire apparently agreed. He sniffed disdainfully and turned his attention elsewhere. 

To the chained mechs and femmes this group of Decepticons had been dragging along with them to feed off of.

Nonononono…  _ They _ were the reason Wing had attacked the Decepticons instead of letting them pass. He was no territory-driven vampire, with an overwhelming urge to protect the Circle’s (loosely defined) borders. It was the suffering of those poor wretches that had called to him. “Wait!”

Wing hadn’t been sure the vampire would. He did though, looking back at Wing with an inquisitive tilt of his head. He may not be a true feral, but he certainly wasn’t one of the genteel vampires the Circle taught its vampires to aspire to be. 

The bloodstained vampire made an impatient noise when Wing hesitated. His thought had been to protect the unfortunates, but he wasn’t sure he could do so without killing his erstwhile ally. That was… not in keeping with Lychinus’ teachings. A vampire needed to feed, and this one had not done anything cruel or harmful beyond what was in that nature… yet. If he fed on those poor sparks, that would be undeniably malicious, but… a vampire needed to feed, and if Wing wanted this one’s true nature, he needed to offer an alternative. 

Return always to the Teachings, to the Tenets of the Circle.

_ Willing prey tastes sweeter. Approach without fear and offer yourself freely and you will be valued. _

Of course, this vampire was not sworn to the corresponding verse of vampires’ version of the Tenets, to know what made mortals afraid and to cherish the few who could return again and again to the fangs of their nightmares. Offering himself as an alternative to this uncivilized creature was a death sentence. 

But what else could he offer? Wing believed in the teachings of Lychinus, in the Tenets the god had given them. If he believed anything, he had to believe that this vampire, all vampires, would prefer prey that submitted willingly. 

“If you let them go, you can have me,” Wing whispered. Quiet as his words were, he knew the vampire could hear them. Now he would put his belief to the test. He lowered his sword. “To feed on. To kill or to keep as a…” Wing forced himself to use the Decepticon word rather than the Circle’s politer  _ acolyte, _ “fuel sack.” 

The jet-dark vampire  _ moved _ like black lightning. Reflexes honed against vampiric sparring partners automatically brought his weapon back up to defend himself, only to find the creature already inside his guard. He knocked away the blade and hissed in pain as he made contact with the flat, but Wing heard no  _ sizzle-crack! _ of burning metal. Wing twisted, trying to hit the vampire with the pommel. He hadn’t burned, but it had caused him pain… 

Claws on his wrist held him tightly. Dark fingers held Wing’s chin and lifted his gaze to meet the demonic red optics. Wing whispered Lychinus’ name, then Primus’, then Unicron’s and saw the vampire only smirk. No one had believed those gods had power when and where this vampire was made.

He had offered himself. He took a deep breath and banished his fear. He looked into this vampire’s optics with all the calm he could muster and saw age and power and cunning. And hunger. It was like looking into Dai Atlas’ optics. No one knew how old their founder and leader was. Much older than the few hundred vorn Axe could boast, and he was the oldest of the vampiric Knights. 

“I am not willing until the others are free,” Wing stated calmly.  _ Willing prey is sweeter. _

“I understood that,” the vampire rasped, speaking for the first time. His voice was strong and sinister. Still holding his chin tightly in dark claws, he lowered his mouth to the white mech’s throat. Wing braced himself for fangs. But the vampire only breathed in his scent. “You have the traces of others in your veins, some old and powerful, but none have branded you as theirs alone.” He sounded curious, like he wasn’t sure why. 

“I have fed others,” Wing admitted. There was no denying it. The layered vestiges of the Circle vampires Wing had allowed to feed on him lingered in his veins, as the dark vampire had said. “Some of them might be angry you’ve taken me, but they will not contest my right to give myself to whomever I choose.” Internally he winced, his words implied the vampire would leave him alive as a… fuel sack, able and willing to tell his side of what had happened, when in reality Wing wasn’t sure he wasn’t about to die and he didn’t want to imply the others would avenge him. They wouldn’t. “Even unto death.”

The vampire sniffed again, and Wing felt  _ hunger _ and  _ desire _ become the dominant emotions in his alien EM field. His grip tightened on his Great Sword and he prepared to call on the weapon’s power. He had offered a choice, a viable choice, and now it was time to see if his offer would be taken… or if he was dealing with another monster like the Decepticons who chose cruelty. 

Wing was released all at once, so suddenly he stumbled and his wings flicked wildly to regain his balance. He watched the already blood-dark vampire stain himself further by ripping pieces of the green vampire’s armor clean away. The dead metal didn’t resist dark claws. Finally, when Wing felt he could watch the macabre scene no more and opened his mouth to protest further desecration of the corpse, the dark vampire hissed triumphantly and brandished a key. 

Hope… 

Only some of the frightened, chained mechs had the strength or mental awareness to draw back from his approach as far as the chains would allow, crying and whimpering. The others were too weak to move, and Wing could see the fear in their optics as they stood silently and looked upon what they surely thought was their doom. Too many just stared blankly, no longer able to comprehend their surroundings or the danger approaching them. 

Danger that swiftly passed as the vampire unlocked the chains and let them fall away. “Shoo,” he told them. They shooed, those who could helping those who couldn’t leave on their own.

“They’ll die or be recaptured as soon as they enter the city,” Wing said, sorrowed but unable to offer any alternative. He couldn’t bring them back to the Circle. Even if Dai Atlas would take them, those people had been too traumatized by vampires to live with them. And he couldn’t ask his new…  _ lord _ for however long this blood-covered brute kept him alive… lord to keep them and not feed from them. 

The vampire shrugged indifferently. “If they make it deep enough in the city, the Autobots will take them in.”

A slim chance, but a chance. 

Wing took a deep breath, then dropped his Great Sword to the ground. It would find its way to the hands of someone worthy eventually. But he couldn’t take it with him.

The  _ clang _ wrenched the vampire’s attention back to him. 

“I’m ready,” Wing said. “Willing, as promised.” 

_ Hunger _ made the vampire’s optics glow brighter. He circled and Wing held himself still and did not try to keep him in sight. He was still a Knight of Lychinus, not prey, until the vampire’s fangs went into his neck and he exchanged one for the other. But he would submit to his fate with dignity and without fear.

He didn’t hear the vampire behind him move; cool claws were suddenly on Wing’s plating, holding his wing down and still and tilting his head to give the vampire access to his neck again. He took in another long breath, savoring the scent. 

“Why haven’t these others marked you.” The question was a breath of sound against Wing’s audios. 

“A Knight of Lychinus cannot be a vampire’s acolyte,” Wing explained, keeping his gaze forward and his plating relaxed as the vampire sniffed and explored. “We can feed who we will,” well, those Knights who were mortal could, “but our will must remain our own.” 

“If these others have their own thralls--”

“Acolytes,” Wing corrected.

“--you know a mark doesn’t actually subvert a mortal’s will.”

“It doesn’t matter. If I have bound myself to a vampire as his acolyte,” or thrall, since to this vampire he would be a  _ thrall _ at best, “the Great Sword of Lychinus will no longer accept me.” He wanted to tell this creature to get it over with and just  _ do _ whatever he was going to. “You will have no fear of my turning it on you. I cannot wield it once you’ve taken me.”

The iron grip tightened and Wing felt the movement of air as the vampire breathed. “I smell sorrow.” 

Now he closed his optics. “Yes,” he admitted. “I have been a Knight of Lychinus for vorns. I feel sorrow for leaving it behind.”

“Sit,” the vampire commanded and miraculously Wing felt his grip loosen to allow him to do so. He eeled around to kneel in front of him so they were optic to optic, but before Wing could ask what was going on, strong hands had pulled his wrist to the vampires mouth and sharp fangs slid roughly into him.

It… both was and was not like being fed on by a Circle vampire. It was in the same spot the others had used. But the Circle vampires recited the Tenets and made Wing feel safe and cherished. Most of them had the skill to weave together feeding and interfacing so that it was even pleasurable. Even if they didn’t, they were gentle. They sipped delicately at the wounds. This dark…  _ ruffian _ shoved his fangs into Wing’s fuel lines and chewed them open until the blood flow satisfied him. Then he clamped down with his teeth so that Wing would lose his hand if he tried to pull away and  _ sucked _ aggressively, pulling the fuel from Wing’s body through the wound. 

He lost fuel much faster than he was used to with other feedings, and his gaze pixelated as he watched the vampire in front of him. This wasn’t slow or controlled; it was fast and hungry and desperate, like he hadn’t fed in cycles and wanted to drink all of Wing’s fuel as quickly as he could. A neck bite would have been even faster. He didn’t know why, but the vampire was allowing him to die a Knight. Feeling grateful, Wing closed his optics and cut off his glitching video feed. He bowed his head and accepted his fate. 

_ Lychinus is the fire. The flame that exists between darkness and light. The coal that burns between ignition and ash. The forge from which we have made all things. Walls to hold back the night. Weapons to slay our nightmares. But Lychinus is also the shadows flickering in candlelight, the creep of night around the walls and beneath the doors we have forged, from which all our nightmares have come. Protect, defend, embrace… _

Wing cried out, interrupting the prayer, when the fangs tore themselves free of him as he had not when they sank into him. Surprised, he turned his optics back on to look at the vampire licking the wound clean, encouraging it to close as it stopped bleeding.

“I’m alive.” 

The vampire scoffed and stood, then unceremoniously pulled Wing to his feet as well. “I need shelter, protection, whatever else a ‘knight’ can provide more than I need a thrall,” he explained harshly. He scooped up Wing’s sword, wincing at the touch, and handed it to him. “So you’re going to take me to the ‘others’ and vouch for me.”

Wing took the sword. He felt the power surge into him and heal the bite until it scarred, gruesome and ugly as the scars it replaced had not been. He was still a Knight, still accepted, but he could feel the Sword’s regard. It knew it had been dropped, and the previously easy meshing of energy now felt sharp and jagged. 

Was it because Wing still  _ owed? _ He had promised this vampire his life, one way or another, in exchange for those chained sparks’, and it had been inexplicably returned to him. His actions wouldn’t be wholly his own until that was repaid.

Or, well,  _ not _ inexplicably. The vampire had told him exactly what he wanted. “I can’t bring you there without even knowing your name.” 

“Deadlock.”

“Deadlock,” Wing repeated, praying over the word. Vampires were cursed, magic, and that magic sometimes meant they could accumulate worshipers like gods, giving the name the same resonance as a prayer. Dai Atlas, Axe and a few others were close to that, though the Circle did not worship them. But if Deadlock had any worshipers, it was not under this name. The only resonance this name had was a whisper of fear. Of sorrow and despair like far-off thunder echoing with grief. Deadlock tilted his head and frowned; he could hear prayer and how it echoed, Wing could see, and the lack of… something in it bothered him, but he did not offer an alternative name. “My name is Wing.” 

Deadlock just snorted, uncaring. “Dawn’s coming. Where are we going?”

Wing breathed. Dai Atlas and the others were going to be so mad at him, for leaving, for interfering with the Decepticons at all, for offering his life to Deadlock and for leading him to their enclave. But Wing was a Knight Errant. What else could he have done?

“This way,” he turned and flitted up onto the ledge he’d been crouched on with a brief burst from his thrusters. He landed lightly and turned to watch Deadlock climbing the rock face with skill if not grace. 

He frowned lightly. He’d never gone this route on foot. Would they make it to the monastery before dawn? 

They did. Wing closed the doors of the great Hall on the first ray of the sun and turned to attend to his companion. He expected to see the limp, lax form of a vampire in torpor only to leap back and gasp at the very awake, red optics glowing in the darkened Hall. 

“Don’t ask me how it works,” Deadlock said before Wing could do exactly that. “A lot of very smart Decepticons have tried to figure it out, but I don’t remember anything before biting Ambulon.”

Wing swallowed his questions and accepted that. It was magic and curses and gods. There was always going to be some part of it he couldn’t understand. 

“I can’t present you to anyone until nightfall.” And where he wouldn’t have hesitated to shelter a torpid vampire in his room until then, an awake and aware one was an entirely different beast. “I can’t get you a room.”

“And in light of this discovery you’re scared to let me into yours,” Deadlock guessed with uncanny, uncommon awareness. Wing hadn’t been allowed within striking distance of the two fledges that had been created after he’d earned his sword and before they retreated from Iacon, but he knew what fledges needed to be taught. Deadlock was definitely not the picture of a civilized, gentle vampire the Circle aspired to be, but someone had taught him how to reason through an approximation of empathy.

“I’m not afraid,” Wing denied though. If Deadlock wanted him dead, he wouldn’t have hesitated when he’d offered himself earlier.

“You aren’t.” Deadlock quirked a mocking smile. “So where are you going to stash me?”

It probably was a really dumb idea. He didn’t really  _ know _ much about Deadlock… except that Deadlock needed him alive for the moment. Vampires were rational, reasoning beings, just like mechs. Deadlock obviously wasn’t starved into unreason. “We’ll go to my rooms.” 

There were no sentries here. Few people in general were up during the day, and the rest would be watching for intruders from the city. Which Deadlock technically was, but Wing  _ owed. _

Deadlock followed him like a shadow, flickering in the candlelight, as he led the way deeper into the underground complex. As a flyer, he wasn’t thrilled about living underground, but he’d mostly gotten used to it, and he didn’t have to worry about windows while Deadlock was there. 

The monastery had no electric lights. The use and dependence on fire was both symbolic and practical. Lychinus’ domain was the ever-shifting border between light and dark and by using candles, fire, they invited Him into their space, rather than excluding him by using electric lights that did not banished all shadow. It was also cheaper. They needed their generator to keep medical equipment, greenhouses, and other essentials running, while simple light could be made using wax and flammable fibers gathered from the crystals around the monastery. 

Wing lit the candle in his room. It was a simple room. Walls were forged -- or at least made by forged tools -- and therefore were sacred. They had taken care to make the carved walls look like they had been built, smooth and flat, but had gotten creative when it came to the polyhedral shapes. Wing’s was the interior of a soothing octahedron. Otherwise his room was very simple, with few belongings. 

Seeing Deadlock up close in the light, how dark he was and knowing it was the death blood of other vampires, Wing wished a bathtub was one of them. It wasn’t. 

.

.

.

End (for now)

**Author's Note:**

> Here is a link to the [Vampiric Codex Official Timeline](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1uS2EX-d3Npd00EkN2SxOa7010AUFPI0TVqiS2vbnsbQ/edit?usp=sharing).


End file.
